Water
by Tyrotoxis
Summary: Stan is extremely depressed, but Kyle has no idea. Without knowing it, Kyle comforts his best friend through the worst of times.
1. Still Alive

**Water**

Ch. 1: _Still Alive_

AN: Thank you for all your reviews on my previous stories. I really do appreciate them and that you take the time to write them. :) I hope you enjoy this story as well.

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

No one knows how hard it is to drown your self.

Not until you've stood over the edge of the water, looking into it and thinking, _Why am I doing this?_

Even after whatever happened to pull you to this conclusion, you still stand, reminding yourself that everything really is so bad that it's just not going to get better.

That it's not going to get better in time.

That this is going to be easy.

It's not.

"The easy way out" is the hardest way.

The "pathetic, emo attention-getter" is nothing more than a helpless and tired being.

Everyone says it's so easy, and at times like this, you'd believe them. It takes so much from you to make yourself do something so drastic. It's easier when someone else is doing it, even if it is all the more painful. Who knows which way is worse, though. What others may think of your corpse is a small afterthought. _Just another suicide._ Does it really mean anything to you now that you're adding to the statistics?

Another moment of hesitation, and it would all seem silly. The thoughts rushing through the head reside, leaving only the heartbeat to pound loudly into your ears. The moment comes: A step over. A pencil dive in, and the water rushes into the nose, burning it and giving you that horrible taste in the back of your throat. At first it's all cold, and then the water feels okay. It's just like when you're getting used to the water before swimming. Just like that.

It takes more will than most could muster to stay under after the dive. Everything reasonable inside tells you to swim back to the surface. You're just inches underneath it since your body seems to float so easily. Will be damned when you consume a breath of air as your head comes out of the water. A chill rushes through you, and your surroundings are just as bland as they were when you dived.

Another try is in order. You already gave up on everything else. Why give up on this? It should be so simple. Less than ten seconds under, and you're right back up again. With your heart racing, it's hard to even hold your breath. Who knew it could be so hard?

You might wonder: _Does it take some technique or am I really that weak?_

"Of course you are," an outsider might reply. "Weak and stupid." So righteous in their words. So self-loving. All that have consciously lived have thought to die, but those who walk through their negativity unscathed feel superior. They've had it worse, and they didn't even _consider_ it as an option. Yeah, I'm sure. Too stoic to feel guilt, you wade in the water for a moment longer with your head half under. The clothes you didn't bother removing or changing for the occasion are soaked, but that doesn't matter. It doesn't even matter that someone might have seen your actions. All that matters is that you're going back.

No emotions make themselves known except for pure misery as you slowly make your way back out of the water. It pours from your clothes once you've stepped completely out, and after that it only drips to the growing puddle at your feet. The fact that this observation could be poetic or metaphorical for something miserable and depressing doesn't even pass through your mind. Only other ways to escape life are present thoughts.

It's cold outside of the water, and the wind is smugly blowing right through your soaked body. _Miserable_. Shivering, you instinctively make your way back to where you came from. Perhaps deciding to sit outside and hope for the flu crosses your mind. Attempting it becomes futile, as it is cold. Very cold.

No one really asks any questions as you pass them. The one you're hoping to be asked is: "Why are you wet?" A witty reply is in your mind. Something blunt and cruel in regards to your actions even though you feel as dejected as you look. It would be stupid to admit you tried it anyway. As if you were trying to brag. There's no reason to brag.

There never was.

I've always been stubborn. I've never given up on anything so easily, but I gave up on this. I gave up on a lot today, but it's all still there just like it was before I jumped. I told someone, and I'm not proud. It was a moment of weakness. They called, and stupidly, I answered.

"Hey—"

"It's not easy," I say quickly, "to drown. It looks like shits and giggles, but it's not. I _tried_." Before anything else could be said, I hung up. There was no call back.

That was stupid.

I don't want my best friend to know, but it's only a matter of time before I break down again. I couldn't tell him why if he asked. He wouldn't understand how I feel, would he? I don't even know where to begin to explain why I feel so…_hopeless. _He would just give me his so-called logical insight on the situation, and finally conclude killing myself is stupid. So many people care about me, he'd say. _But do they?_

I don't care.

All that will come out of this is anger and lectures and irritation, and I'm so fucking tired. The people I want to know most will never know. They'll never ask. They'll never find out.

I walk back to my room slowly, as if I could make the atmosphere any more depressing, and stand there for a moment even though it's cold. It's so fucking cold. The carpet under my feet is getting wet from my presence, and my clothes are clinging to me, making everything all the worse. I refuse to let my body shiver, even though every once in a while it'll do it involuntarily. I don't want to look as weak as I really am. I'd hate myself for appearing so pathetic.

For some reason, I'm still considerate of my things, of myself, and of the fucking carpet. I peel off my clothes and toss them in the bathroom on the sink to just lie there, wet and dripping on the tile. I could have left them in my floor, but they'd soak everything. Why would I want that?

Without even bothering to dry off in between, I put on whatever is in my floor. With two layers of clothes on, I sit on the edge of my bed, hands attempting to be warmed under my thighs. I hate to think right now because all I really want to do is cry. No one's around, so it should be okay, but I don't want to let myself rot in my own misery. My eyes already sting and feel strained from even the thought.

My cell phone vibrates from the floor, and I refuse to get up to pick it up. I'm sure I know who it is. I don't want to have to talk. Finally, it stops vibrating, and I feel a little relieved.

It starts for a second time, but I just lay back on my bed. After it stops, it goes off yet again. Fuck.

"…Hello."

"Geeze, Stan, you pick up after the _third_ time I call. What're you doing?"

I have nothing to say to that. I sit there in silence, staring down at my lap. _Why did I pick up?_

Kyle didn't seem to mind the silence and continued as if it were any other conversation. As if I had answered cheerfully with something I'd usually say. I guess it must be hard to sense how fucking depressed I am through the phone.

"So, I'm completely out of ideas for this weekend. Have you thought of anything?"

"No." I state, monotone, "I have no ideas."

"Well, let's think of something," he says to me in that determined voice of his. He'd been really looking forward to spending this four-day weekend together. So had I.

I sigh into the phone and pinch the bridge of my nose. I really don't want to sound like I'm about to cry over the phone with Kyle. I'm sure if I spoke, my voice would waver and break, and Kyle would immediately realize why I'm so quiet and ask me in that worried tone, 'what's wrong?' I haven't had enough time alone, and I know that I'd spill. I'd let everything that I've kept bottled up for so long loose on the one person I'm sure I can trust. I don't really think I can trust him with _everything,_ though. I mean, we're both human. Who would want that much thrown onto them just because they claim someone as their best friend? Either way, I don't want to be proven right.

I don't want to be told what I already know: I'm a stupid coward.

"Stan? You still there?"

I can't seem to reply, still in a daze of thoughts. I don't know what to say to him. I can't even get my mind to think about anything other than being depressed. After a few more moments of silence, I can hear Kyle mumble to himself, "I guess he hung up…"

He sounded so disappointed. I couldn't just let him hang up thinking I had hung up on _him_. Before he could hang up himself, I spoke up, "N-no, I'm here."

"Oh, good…" There was a pause, and I think he was hoping I'd say something more. I didn't, so he continued by asking, "How about we go to the movies? Is there anything you wanna see? I kinda wanted to see the Prince of Persia."

"Uh," I moved the wet hair from my ear to make holding the phone more comfortable and shrugged, "sure. I don't care. When?"

"Today..?"

"..Oh."

"I can be over there in like five minutes, and we can hang out until the movie starts."

"Okay."


	2. In My Head

**Water**

Ch. 2: _In My Head_

AN: Sorry for the wait to those of you who have been watching this. I had writer's block.

**South Park (c) Matt Stone & Trey Parker**

* * *

Kyle didn't show up.

It was fifteen minutes in, and I was starting to wonder if he was going to come at all. I was tempted to call him at the time, but that would have been stupid. _I just have to be patient_, I told myself. _That's all._ So, I just ended up waiting, wondering if God was just mocking me or something.

I didn't bother putting on something decent to wear. I left the clothes I had snatched from the floor on, and I knew I definitely looked like shit. Just my face was a dead give away for that one, but I was wearing a thin, long-sleeved grey and white striped shirt with a black band shirt over it, and I had picked up some old blue jeans that were getting too small to be comfortable and put them on regardless of how they looked on me. My hair was still wet and disheveled from the dive, so I kind of combed it out then put on my red, poof-ball hat.

I looked mismatched and silly and vaguely like a punk. At least I was still me somewhere under there, even if I was completely drained. Being depressed tends to do that to a person.

It only took me a minute or two to do that, so for the rest of the time I'd been standing or sitting around the living room waiting for Kyle to show up. I was actually starting to seriously look forward to it. As far as I could tell, our friendship seemed to be the only steady thing I still had going for me. I couldn't think of what my life would be like without him. Ugh. I didn't need more bullshit to wallow over, just some good times with my best friend. Time spent with him usually always left my glass half-full, even if only for a few moments. My mind wandered over the memories of the past times we'd gone to the movies together. Just before a Terrance and Phillip movie, we walked around the theatre looking at soon-to-come movie posters and made fun of them. Most of the new movies looked stupid and definitely not worth watching, but some of them we made a promise to go see just to make fun of. I wanted to do that with him again.

I went to check the time after a while, and apparently it had been twenty-one minutes since Kyle had hung up. I was still tired, alone, and depressed. Reminiscing on times I had spent with him weren't exactly helping things.

It wasn't like Kyle was renowned for being on time or super early or anything. He wasn't even known for being late. I never usually noticed how long it took him to arrive before, I guess. I kept watching the time thinking any minute he'd show up and hopefully have one hell of a good explanation. None of that 'sorry, dude, Kenny died' shit today. _Someone_ other than Kenny better have died because, really? This is bullshit.

After an hour of sitting around downstairs, I went back up to my room and lay around. Fuck Kyle for not showing up. Fuck that redheaded kid right around the goddamn corner. I wasn't really looking forward to seeing his stupid face anyway. I wasn't glad that he had called me. I didn't need him to smile at me and try to make me worry less about life. No, I _wanted_ to be alone. This is exactly what I wanted.

_This is exactly what I wanted._

I repeated it to myself in my head and rubbed my face in my palms. It would be stupid to cry over him bailing on me. It happened sometimes. Friends do that. _I've_ done that. I just wish he hadn't ditched on me today. Actually, I'd say that no matter what day it is. He rarely ever bails, and especially not without telling me.

I reached out to grab my phone and stare at it. He didn't even call or anything. Well, not yet, at least. He normally would if shit came up. The possibilities of something coming up was pretty high, but it wasn't like he could have been kidnapped or anything. That was highly unlikely in a small town like South Park. He's seventeen anyway; he can handle himself. It couldn't have been Kenny dying either because that's just an every day thing. Cartman _would_ attempt something, but not today. That smug bastard is enjoying himself at Casa Bonita. Kyle's diabetes would be a problem if he weren't, you know, Kyle. He takes care of himself, so his hold up must be _my_ fault.

He sounded fine over the phone, though. Then again, I've never been one to read atmospheres. Wendy constantly got on my case for that one when we dated.

I know I didn't really say anything that could set him off. I hardly even said anything, actually. Something had to have happened, but what? Kyle always had me come help him whenever there was something big going on. I was usually always there.

Deciding not to think on it any longer, I just put my phone on my pillow and rolled onto my side, hoping to just sleep it all off. Today I've lost hope in myself. Today I attempted suicide. Today my best friend didn't show up after he called me. Today I hate myself.

_Why am I so pathetic?_

_

* * *

_

It was no surprise that when I woke up, it was dark in my room. First thing I did was check my phone. I was thinking that maybe Kyle called to give an explanation for his absence. No such luck with my phone, however. Apparently it died while I was sleeping because the screen stayed black even when I held down the power button. I rolled over onto my back and glanced over at the clock. 3:26 A.M.

With the exception to the red numbers on my clock, I was basically blind. I could hardly see a damn thing except for a few ominous shapes. What was more bothersome was that it was sweltering hot under the covers, which I assumed I slipped under in my sleep, and I was sweating bullets. The clothes I never took off were uncomfortable as hell, too. Groggily, I sat up and pulled off the shirts I had layered on, tossing them to the floor. Pants were next.

I shifted to get off of my bed, but there was some interception with my legs. _Something_ was on my bed. A little uneasy, I reached forward and felt around. After a moment of patting down near my legs, I found that there's an arm…and a back. Okay, so it's a person. That's kind of good…or really, really bad.

I snatched my hands away and waited for the person to say something or at least move, but there was nothing.

Oh, Jesus… Oh, _God_. I don't have an alternate dimension killer goldfish anymore, so _hopefully_ it's not a dead body.

_Please, God, don't let this be a dead body. My mom will freak out. She'll never be the same if I kill people in my sleep. My dad might try to lock me in the basement or throw me out into the woods or, even worse, put me in a mental facility. I really don't need to add on to how fucked up I am already. I swear, this better be a joke or something... Don't be an asshole, God._

After that short prayer, I pulled my legs up from under the covers. Trying not to make my bed creak under my weight, I got on my hands and knees and crawled forward to feel around for this person's head. So far that I knew, it wasn't my dad. This person's arms weren't that thick, and they were kind of soft to the touch and a bit more toned than my dad's. He could take out anyone's dad in a fight, but if he wasn't flexing or something, his arms were kind of flabby. It could have _maybe _been my mom, but her plus toned, muscular arms don't go together. I was pretty sure normal chicks never have arms like this.

The person on my bed was in a weird position on their side near the very end, narrowly avoiding my legs. I guess it was their own legs dangling near the edge that got me. I continued to feel around, and I finally found a face. It was a dude. On my bed. Not mom. Not dad. It was some dude.

I might have killed someone in my sleep.

I darted out of my bed and went to flip on the light before I could freak out any more than I already had. What was I supposed to do if I killed someone? Who was I supposed to tell? How the fuck was I supposed to deal with all this bullshit piling onto my life? Once the lights were on, I was hesitant to look, but once I finally chanced a glance at my bed relief washed over me like I don't know what when I saw who it was. Christ, I almost wanted to punch him for making me think I was a sleep walking murderer.

I followed through on my plan to take off my pants before wandering back over to the bed, standing at the end with my hands smugly resting on my hips, the hem of my boxers just below my hands. There was my best friend laying there in the most retarded position I've ever seen him. Kyle was kind of curled inward on his side, the back of his head against my wall but his chin tilted in towards his chest, and his arms were folded up at his chest while his legs were splayed out over the edge of my bed. His hat was slipping off of his head, and those curls were just fighting to get loose from it. His usual jacket was no where to be seen around my bed, so he looked scantily clad in just a light green recycle shirt and a regular pair of jeans. It was no surprise that Kyle lacked shoes; they were probably at the front door where he left them if there was mud on them.

"Kyle, wake up, you asshole."

I nudged his foot with my knee roughly in an attempt to wake him up. He rolled onto his back and stretched out his arms and legs, his eyes fluttering open. Instantly his gaze was on me, and I scowled at him. He was still half asleep from what I could tell because he was smiling in that pleasant, yet sleepy way while he shifted his legs all the way onto the bed.

"Mmh…?"

"Don't try to look so innocent. What're you doing in my bed? Actually, why did you bail on me earlier?"

"Stan…Relax, dude," he was still smiling softly up at me, and I could feel my anger melting away.

_God damn, is he even awake right now? Is he high? I bet he was hanging out with Towelie while I was waiting for his ass. I bet he was getting high and shit. I swear to God if he even starts talking about walking on sunshine, I'm going to throw his ass out my window._

I huffed and crossed my arms, still frowning in his general direction. I needed some answers. God forbid if I ever wanted to know why he was in my bed unannounced. "Well?"

Instead of answering me, he pulled his shirt over his head, sliding off his hat in the process and tossed both to the floor. I continued to stare him down, hoping that would force something out of him. I hear peer pressure does great things these days. He shimmied out of his pants quickly and crawled under my covers, plopping on his side with his back to me.

If I hadn't expected that, I would have been gaping in part surprise and part annoyance. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I let out an exasperated sigh. Kyle was in his 'comfort-zone' sleep. He wouldn't wake up for shit unless he didn't _know_ why I'm pissed, or if something crazy happened. I wasn't going to get much of anything out of him unless I went out of my way to scare the shit out of him. I was pretty sure he'd be expecting it though, so there was no use in trying.

"I seriously hate you sometimes, dude."

After a moment more of staring down his motionless body, I flipped off the lights and crawled into bed beside him. "Move over," I mumbled, tugging on the covers. He shifted a bit more towards the wall and yawned while reaching up to cling to the pillow he had taken from me. Of course, he knew I'd take it back otherwise, so I guess it's a habit for him now.

In reality, I was relieved to find him there on my bed. Not just because I was scared to death he would be a dead body or a rapist otherwise. I didn't want to be alone anymore, and I guess I just got lucky this time. That always seems to be the case with Kyle, though. I'm pretty lucky to have such an awesome best friend.

With another sigh, I shifted closer to him and poked his side, whispering softly, "Hey, Kye..?"

There was no answer. I sat up on an elbow and stared down at him, waiting. After a few moments of silence, he shifted and turned over to face me. Although his eyes were still closed, I knew he was listening in to what I had to say.

"I, uh. I missed you, man."

Kyle abruptly reached up and grabbed the side of my head, then pushed it down into the pillow, muttering under his breath, "Go to sleep, Christ."

I chuckled and swatted away his hand before shifting into a comfortable position on my side. Kyle was already out cold again. I wasn't as tired as before since I had slept so long, but getting a few extra hours couldn't be unhealthy.

_I think this is what I'm still alive for._ _Weird shit like this._

_I don't think it has to make sense. _

_It just works._


End file.
